


basically i love you and that’s kinda gay

by dhils



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, also jimmy is wildly oblivious to everything, but jimmy’s just dumb, stupid dude humour is stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 20:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16562765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhils/pseuds/dhils
Summary: “You know, in the sense that I wanna be lesbians with you. But, like, dude lesbians,” Brady says.





	basically i love you and that’s kinda gay

**Author's Note:**

> little known fact: when they’re not beating my team, i love the rangers
> 
> title from valentine by atlas

Jimmy’s really not sure when Brady changed the channel to the fucking Ellen Show of all things, but he’s kind of liking it. Like, in that guilty pleasure kind of way. Ellen’s got Portia on and they’re being lovable idiots together, which is a little too endearing for their own good. Jimmy has to will himself down from smiling the entire time they gush about each other, especially because he catches Brady looking at him with his stupid smug face.

“Well,” Brady starts, and he leans back against the couch, “that could be us but you’re playing.”

Jimmy blinks at him. “What?”

“You know, in the sense that I wanna be lesbians with you. But, like, dude lesbians,” Brady says, waving his hand around by means of explanation. 

“Are you _okay_.” Jimmy’s trying not to laugh, but he can feel the corners of his lips quirking up. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to be taking this seriously or not.

“Hell yeah, man, we can touch dicks and do the gay shit,” Brady throws him the worst thumbs up Jimmy has ever seen, and his smile is crooked. This isn’t the kind of conversation he thought he’d be having with Brady, ever.

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Jimmy says. He doesn’t really wanna think about it, but he kind of is now. And—yeah, no, definitely not how that’s supposed to be.

Brady makes a considering noise, like they’re not talking about. That. “It would be kind of romantic.”

“You must be a riot on dates,” Jimmy deadpans. 

“Wanna find out?” He doesn’t miss Brady wiggling his eyebrows at him, really, nobody could miss it.

“No,” Jimmy says. He kind of does, though. “Turn on something else.” He’s referring to the TV, but.

“I’ll turn _you_ on,” Brady says, which is definitely bordering on not buddies, probably. Jimmy isn’t even sure anymore.

He reaches for the remote and decides wrestling Brady for it is probably better than using his words.

 

 

“This is dumb,” Jimmy says, staring down the weird ass combination of vegetables Brady decided to throw in a pot with some noodles. Well, he _thinks_ they’re noodles. They look a little like straws, but that’s something he’ll deal with later. 

“No, you’re dumb,” Brady snaps, and he pokes at some stray broccoli bobbing around. “I’m just trying to learn how to make a home cooked meal, man. You’re really buttering my egg roll.”

“What does that even mean.”

“Was I supposed to cut this?” Brady asks, still staring down the broccoli, and, like, fuck Jimmy if he knows. Fuck Jimmy either way, really. 

“Ask your mom, dude,” Jimmy says, and that’s probably the most help he’s offered all night. Aside from violently critiquing Brady’s grocery list. This is the most food they’ve had in their fridge for months and 90% of it is kale. That’s not a good thing.

Brady rolls his eyes at him and Jimmy hopes they get stuck like that. “I’m trying to be independent.” 

“You’re not very good at it.” 

“ _You’re_ not good at it.” Brady turns to look at him and Jimmy instinctively ducks because the guy’s got a wooden spoon in his hand. It’s a weapon.

He twists his mouth. “Bitch.”

“Asshole.”

“Whore,” Jimmy snipes.

“For you, yeah,” Brady says conversationally. Jimmy doesn’t really get enough time to process it before Brady’s holding his hand out. “Give me the salt, I wanna see if I can save this.” 

“Sure I’ll give you salt, but I’m not eating that,” Jimmy tells him, reaching for the box of salt perched precariously on the counter. 

“Uh, yeah you are,” Brady says. “I’m _cooking_ for you. You should be flattered, wife me the fuck up.”

“Pass,” Jimmy says, and Brady nearly spills the salt on the floor while trying to handle the box.

 

 

When Brady knocks at his door it’s a little past midnight and Jimmy’s trying to suffocate himself with his pillow, which is always good and fresh. 

“What’s up,” he calls, and when Brady pushes the door open he looks beyond exhausted. Jimmy can’t make much out but the tired lines of his face beneath the moonlight leaking in through his window, but he looks like the walking dead.

“Can’t sleep, man, can I chill here?” 

Jimmy flips the other side of the blanket over to make a spot for him. “Yeah, c’mon.” 

It’s nice, when Brady gets into bed next to him. Even if they’re not necessarily touching, Jimmy can still feel the heat radiating off of him, and a lot of that is comforting. It’s just nice to have someone sleeping next to you sometimes. Especially if they don’t kick in their sleep.

“Big spoon or a little?” Brady asks. It’s not totally necessary, they’ve slept together enough times that Brady knows Jimmy likes getting his hands on him, it’s warm and fuzzy and _friendly_ , and Brady’s really comfy. He still checks in, and that’s admirable.

“Mmm,” Jimmy mumbles, and shifts so he can throw an arm over Brady’s middle. Lower would probably be nice, but he’s not thinking about that right now. For the most part.

“Spoon me like some yogurt,” Brady says, and Jimmy can hear the smile in his voice, how hard he’s trying not to crack up. He hates him so much.

Not really.

“Say that again and I’ll kick you out,” Jimmy says cautiously, and Brady laughs. 

“Okay, okay. G’night.”

 

 

Jimmy’s in the middle of watching some random YouTube series he decided to binge tonight when Brady slumps down on the couch next to him. He yawns obnoxiously and Jimmy guesses that means his evening plans are made. 

“What,” Jimmy says, flitting his gaze towards him. 

“Nothing,” Brady mutters. He drums his fingers against the couch and there’s something considering on his face. That usually means it definitely isn’t _nothing_. 

Jimmy stares at him, hoping that if he does it long enough maybe he’ll be able to get some information out of him. “Yeah?” 

“You wanna get dinner?”

There it is. 

“Whatever you want, man,” Jimmy says, because he likes dinner with Brady. It’s domestic and chill, and it gives him a chance to look at Brady without accidentally saying dumb shit. That’s a win-win-win situation. 

Brady pulls out his phone and stares it down for a good moment before, “Wanna get something off Uber Eats or Grubhub?”

“Uh.” Jimmy scratches the back of his neck, because he doesn’t really give a shit. “I don’t know, man. Whatever.”

Brady nods his head slowly, like he’s registering what Jimmy’s saying one syllable at a time. “Do you have a preference?” He asks. “Which one do you like more?”

“I don’t really care, they’re both good.” Jimmy shrugs. “Does it matter?”

“Yes—no. I mean, some people make a big deal out of it,” Brady says, even if this is the first time he’s ever had this kind of conversation with literally anyone. “So, let me get this straight—um, _clear_. You like both?”

Jimmy blinks at him. “Yeah?”

“Oh, cool. Yeah, okay, that’s cool. Totally fine,” Brady tells him. Jimmy still isn’t getting this. “And, uh, how long have you liked both?” 

“Since—since forever?” 

“Mhm. So, I get that you‘re into Uber Eats, like, you’re pretty public with that, but I never hear anything about Grubhub. Is it because you’re _afraid_?” Brady squints at him, and Jimmy definitely feels like he’s getting interrogated. About food delivery services—fantastic. “You know there are people that’ll support you, right? Lots of people like Grubhub.” 

“Good for them,” Jimmy says slowly.

“Good for you, too.” Brady smiles, and suddenly he’s back to his bright, bright self. “Alright, so Grubhub, cool. Let’s get some fucking pizza.”

 

 

“Holy shit.” Jimmy stares at the pancake on his plate, evenly golden and speckled with chocolate chips. It’s definitely not a good idea to eat, because hockey, or whatever. But, like, holy shit.

“Taste it and weep,” Brady says.

“You _made_ this?” Jimmy asks, even if he watched Brady make it—and almost flip a pancake onto the floor. It’s pretty revolutionary nonetheless, this is the third time they’re using their dining table this week. That’s more than they’ve used it, like. All year.

“Fuck yeah.” Brady grins, and puffs his chest out a little. “Where’s your god now?”

It looks too good for there not to be a catch, and Jimmy’s not stupid enough to not be wary. “How. What did you put in it?”

Brady somehow manages to look unimpressed and amused all at once, and then, “A whole lot of love,” he says. Which would probably be sweet if this wasn’t Brady he’s talking about. He sets some maple syrup down in front of him and flashes his brightest grin, and Jimmy’s brain just goes offline for a minute.

 

 

”Wanna touch my stick?” Brady asks, coasting to a sharp stop right next to Jimmy. He showers his skates in shreds of ice, but the shit-eating look on his face drowns it out. 

“That depends. How’s the tape job? Y’know, wrap it before you tap it.” He decides to play along, because hey, why the hell not. He’ll probably get a weird look or two if he ends up miming a hand job on Brady’s hockey stick, but comedy’s a grind. 

Brady laughs, shoving his glove into Jimmy’s face. “My tape job is _great_ , best in the league.” 

“Weird flex, but okay.” Jimmy grins at Brady’s faux hurt expression. “And I doubt that.”

Brady dramatically touches a hand to his chest. He ignores it when Kevin starts shouting his name because morning skates are Brady’s time to annoy the shit out of Jimmy, apparently. He’ll take it. 

 

 

“Jimmy,” Brady says, and he practically bursts through the door of their apartment. His face is red and he’s wearing his dumb hoodie with the torn off sleeves so Jimmy thinks it’s safe to assume he just got back from the gym. At ass o’clock in the morning, too.

“What’s up,” Jimmy greets back, and he’s much happier than Brady in his spot on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket. Training is something he’s going to leave for the afternoon, when he doesn’t feel like dying.

“Answer me honestly,” Brady says, which isn’t ever a good thing. “Just, be real, don’t beat around the bush—“

“What the fuck,” Jimmy blurts.

“Listen.” He sits down on the couch next to him, and blows out a little breath. “Are you into dudes, yes or no.”

“What.”

“I don’t know, man. Like, I thought my gaydar was off, but then _this_ ,” he gestures at the TV screen where Jimmy _was_ enjoying an episode of Queer Eye, thanks a lot. He fumbles for the remote and hits the power off button. “I mean, I just gotta know for sure,” Brady adds.

“I,” Jimmy stares at him. “You can’t make me answer that.”

“Honestly, I thought I was making it _really_ obvious that I’m into you, but I mean, if I was reading shit wrong, pretend this never happened.” Brady gives him a small smile, all crooked and soft before it drops again. “Or, oh god, are you into guys that aren’t me?”

“No, what. _No_ , you’re really sweet, and funny, and—all that. Why would I not be into you?” Jimmy feels a fifty pound weight lift off his shoulders, and that‘s like heaven in itself. 

“Actually?” Brady’s smile is back full force, and he lets out this breathy laugh. It sounds exhausted. “You’re so bad at flirting.”

“That was not flirting.” 

“I basically suck your dick every time you look at me. I thought it was _me_ ,” Brady says, and the way he sounds relieved makes Jimmy’s heart flutter.

He feels like an idiot. They could’ve had something forever ago. Holy fuck. “Social cues aren’t my strong suit.” 

“Yeah? No kidding, Einstein.”

“Wait, so, are we—we’re doing this?” Jimmy points between them, as if he could possibly be talking about anyone else.

“Yeah,” Brady says. “Like being together?”

“Wow.” Jimmy laughs, and it comes out sounding weak. That’s a lot.

”Holy shit.” Brady smiles at him, and then, “Hey, can I, uh, kiss you?”

And Jimmy could take a moment like this to show some form of self-restraint, but he’s got Brady in front of him willing and ready to kiss him, so. “Yes—yeah, please.”

Brady’s lips twitch upwards and if they hadn’t been before, they’re definitely the centre of his attention now, pretty and pink, and so fucking close to him he could lose his mind. It feels like it takes forever until Brady’s actually against him, all slow and tentative, and Jimmy can’t believe it. In disbelief that he’s getting this, that he’s actually kissing Brady fucking Skjei.

And then, then he gets a hand in Brady’s hair. He feels an arm wind around his waist, pulling him in. He follows when a second coaxes him closer, and Jimmy’s so fucking easy, he’s in Brady’s lap before he can make anything else of it. 

It’s a better angle. He can deepen the kiss, press further into Brady and feel him open underneath him. It’s something out straight out of a fairytale, the lingering touches and the hands fitting perfectly onto his hips. Like he was made for this, and if he was, it’s all he wants to do, caught in Brady’s orbit forever. 

He does pull away eventually, and Brady makes a small noise of protest, biting at his lip as he goes, but they’re both panting—it really was only a matter of seconds. 

“Wow,” Jimmy breathes out, and Brady laughs into his space, pressing their foreheads together.

“Honestly.”

“I like it up here,” Jimmy says, and wiggles his hips against Brady’s. He ignores the choked off noise he makes to plant another kiss to his nose. 

“We should do this more often.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy agrees, with a little nod. “You should probably kiss me again. Just in case I was imagining how good it was.”

Brady smiles and Jimmy lets himself get swept up in his lips.


End file.
